And the Rainbow Hearts. Lisa Clark

      “Lola, I must be dreaming—pinch me, pinch me!” Sadie demands holding out her petite, doll-like arm in my direction.

      Sadie is far too cute to ever be pinched, and as a rule, I am not a pincher, but it seems my gal pal has developed what I can only describe as a touch of the crazy-excitedness, so I’m thinking that a teeny-weeny pinch might be just the thing to calm her down.

      “Ow,” she scowls, rubbing hard at the just-been-pinched-by-Lola spot. “I didn’t actually mean it…”

      Oh, maybe not then.

      The cause of Sadie’s crazy-excitedness? Tom Tootie.

      Sigh.

      Tom Tootie, nicknamed Tootie Cuti by…well, just Sadie and me probably, is the lead singer and guitar god for our current band of choice, The Tootie.

      He is the only boy type in the whole wide world who is yummier than Jake Farrell.

      Sigh. Thud.

      Previously, I thought that Ooh-la-la Frenchville Charlie, the super cute-shop-assistant, was totally worthy of my crushin’ and maybe even a contender to Jake’s throne, but sadly, it was not to be. While I love the fact he can recite EVERY word to all my favourite Audrey Hepburn movies, according to Angel, my BFF and his next-door neighbour, he can spend an hour or more in the bathroom—every day. You couldn’t actually date someone who took longer to get ready than you, could you?

      Not really.

      He does, however, make quite possibly the cutest arm-accessory though. And he has an Ooh-la-la Frenchville accent.

      And he will pay you compliments, as every boy-type should.

      According to Bella, my Americano gal pal and punk-trash guitar-playing princess, when deciding on a potential boy-type to hang with, you should ALWAYS make sure that they come with a built-in compliment-giving facility, because, apparently, it does not come as standard with all makes of boy. If they don’t have it, she says that you must send them back and demand a new model. Bella is significantly older than me, she’s 16, that makes her an expert in just about absolutely everything.

      Anyway, where was I?

      Oh yes, Jake. As-delicious-as-a-family-sized-bar-of-chocolate, Jake.

      He was the one-and-only heir to my heart. I say was, because in an attempt to rain on my pink parade, a rather pesky evil Eva Satine, who FYI, is not a fan of my work, is now officially dating him.

      Yes, this is sad.

      Boo.

      In fact, sometimes I think it’s even a little sadder than that because Jock boy Jake is so unbelievably wasted on Evil Eva. She is bad to the bone, badness x 100, bad, bad, bad—you get the picture, right? ‘Cept, I’m the only one who can see it. Oh and my BFF Angel, she can see it too, but what with her not being here all the time—she goes to a super-swank boarding school and has to wear a straw hat that she balances on her afro—she doesn’t get to see her evilness in full.

      Still, I have a brand-new pink-thinkin’ tude, I can play three chords on the guitar, I am officially editor-girl of my very own real-life ‘zine, ‘Think Pink’ and I have two fabulous new be-there buds, Bella and Sadie, which, let me tell you, is waaay better than having any amount of smooch time with Jake Farrell.

      I am now vowing only to spend my valuable crush time on celeb-boys. They don’t break your heart at 100 paces. They’re just